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“No. Not yet. I haven’t started writing yet. Just doing some research.”
“Ooh.” Another woman joins in. “You know who you should talk to?” She turns to her friend. “What’s his name? The guy in the big house?”
The friend furrows her brow and then says, “Sebastian Randall?”
The woman nods. “Yes. Him. He’s had a novel published. It wasn’t historical, I don’t think, but it was set in an Essex village. I bet he’d have loads of great advice for you?”
“Randall?” says Jessica, turning back to Gavin. “Isn’t that the guy you were telling me about?”
“Yes! I didn’t know he’d published a novel.”
“Yes, a few years back,” says the woman. “Don’t think it sold anything though. Probably more of a vanity project…I wouldn’t be surprised.”
A disparaging rumble goes through the group and Jessica clocks it as a sign that Sebastian Randall is not held in high regard in the village of Barton Wallop.
“What’s the deal with him? Not liked?”
“Well,” says the pink-haired woman, “I wouldn’t say that. But just, you know, these out-of-towners turn up and then don’t try to fit in. And his girlfriend is a bit of a stuck-up bitch.”
Jessica hides her surprise. “Girlfriend?”
“Yeah. She’s much younger than him, dresses like a Barbie doll, carries her dogs around in bags. I think she thinks she’s a celebrity.”
“Oh,” says Jessica, processing the fact that Sebastian has a girlfriend that he clearly hasn’t told anyone about. “What’s her name?”
“No idea. We just call her Barbie.”
“Wait. She’s not named Belle, is she?”
“Belle? No. I don’t think so. Why?”
“Oh, no reason.” She picks up her Diet Coke and takes a long sip, aware that she’s just potentially outed herself as having more of an interest in Barton Wallop than merely a location for a detective novel.
“And what’s he like, this Sebastian guy?” she asks, trying to move past the subject briskly.
“He’s just a bit of a dick, really. But harmless, you know.”
“Well,” Jessica says, “it sounds like he’d be good to talk to, and maybe get a sneaky look inside his house for research too. Does anyone have a number for him?”
“Can do better than that,” says the woman with the pink streaks. “My husband does the moat.”
“Does the moat?” Jessica repeats. “What does he do to the moat?”
“The upkeep. He’s going in tomorrow. I’ll get him to mention you to Sebastian. Where are you staying?”
“I’m at the hotel across the street.”
“Oh, my daughter works there! I can get her to get a message to you. Jessica, is it?”
“Yes. Jessica Allan.”
“Watch this space,” says the woman. “But while you’re waiting, there’s a little historical society with a library just above the chemist’s. It’s only open in the mornings. Might be worth having a little dig around in there. This village has some very strange stories to tell.”
“It does?”
“Oh yes. Stranger than any fiction. Way, way stranger.”
Twelve years ago
